


walk like you're a god, can't believe I made you weak

by violentdarlings



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Power Dynamics, Restraints, Woman on Top, clace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clary topping Jace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walk like you're a god, can't believe I made you weak

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt over at [shadowhunters ficathon](http://ladygawain.livejournal.com/83265.html) :
> 
> Clary/Jace - so take me, and break me, and make me strong like you. Title from Strange Love by Halsey. TMI belongs to Cassandra Clare.

Clary pins him to the bed, and Jace lets her. They’re both well aware he could throw her off in an instant, that he could toss her aside and walk away and all this would be over. But oh, the pressure of her slim hands around his wrists, Jace could die like this and never regret a single line of his life. Clary is light as air but the weight of her expectation sinks him into the bed and his heartbeat is slowing for the first time in days and Clary is here; all is right with Jace’s world.

The slick of her brushes his cock and he shudders helplessly, hips arching up into nothingness. The smile that curves her lips is all wickedness. “I’ve told you, Jace,” she says, splayed in his lap like she doesn’t hold every ounce of power in the palms of her dainty hands. “Don’t move. Or there’ll be consequences.” He knows. Once she’d tied him to the bed and went away to sketch for two hours. By the time she’d come back he’d been buzzing with indignation and arousal, the stinging pain around his chafed wrists as much of an aphrodisiac as knowing she could do whatever she liked with him. Jace has lived his whole life by orders, by the Law. And then getting older and having to give the orders – the sheer _relief_ of it, to give himself up to Clary, if only for a little while.

He holds himself rigid as she lowers herself inch by agonising inch onto his cock. The first time he’d fucked her, she’d made a tiny noise of pain in the back of her throat as she’s ridden him. The heat of her had been enough to have him nearly on the edge, the little whimpers as she’d ground down on his cock had thrilled him enough to have him bucking underneath her, desperate and aching, and coming without a thought.

That first time, she hadn’t been angry with him, although he’d cursed himself bitterly later. But the second time, and the third – that had been when things really started to change. The first time she’d restrained him, Jace had cried out so loudly he had been sure the entire Institute must have heard (how Clary had laughed over that, kind laughter, like a balm to his battered heart). He hadn’t known until she’d read it in him, how the need for it slotted into place inside of him, taking up residence beside Wayland and Lightwood and _parabatai_ and Idris, as inviolable as his own sense of self.

“Shh,” Clary is murmuring, and he comes back to himself enough to realise the desperate keening noise is coming from his own throat. Jace bites his lip and clenches his fists, his wrists still held in Clary’s grip, and tries to keep still for as long as possible. He is fighting a losing battle, knows Clary likes to watch the tremors and the need build up in him, but he is naturally competitive, after all, and does not submit easily.

Perhaps that’s why it could only have ever been Clary. Jace has fucked girls before but there has never been anyone like Clary, never. He had not known creatures like Clary existed, soft as silk and patient and gentle but with a core of cruelty running through her like a blade. Valentine Morgenstern’s daughter, and Jocelyn Fray’s, too.

“Good boy,” Clary tells him softly, and Jace’s hips snap up, he can’t help it. He turns his face to the side, eyes closed so tight he sees starbursts against the black. The rhythm of her hips, the breathy noises she can’t hide, it all conspires to have him bucking, suddenly closer than close, Clary tight around him and breathing in his ear. Mutely she releases his wrists, silent consent and permission and reward all wrapped up into one, and Jace _breaks_. He opens his eyes, sets his hands on her hips and moves her up and down, the friction building, what was bearable a moment ago suddenly too much to handle.

“Please,” he says through gritted teeth, and Clary lowers herself so they are chest to chest, her eyes infinitely kind and indescribably cruel.

“Of course, Jace,” she says, stroking his hair back, and Jace can’t remember when he started needing permission to come but he wouldn’t change a thing about Clary, a thing about this, not for all the world.

Jace shudders, and falls apart, and when he comes back to himself Clary is there, holding him together with nothing more her hands and her will. As though the grace of her can seal up the hairline cracks in him, at least for now, until the next time he fractures apart under her hands and she rebuilds him, better than he was before.


End file.
